Right Next Door

by Debbie Macomber

  “So when do I get to meet this female dynamo?” Barney asked after Alex had successfully completed the shot.

  “I don’t know yet,” Alex said as he retrieved his golf ball. He inserted the putter back inside his bag before striding toward the cart.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Barney echoed. “What’s with you and this woman? I swear you’ve been a different man since you met her. You stare off into space with this goofy look on your face. I talk to you and you don’t hear me, and when I ask you about her, you get defensive.”

  “I’m not defensive, I’m in love.”

  “Alex, buddy, listen to the voice of experience. You’re not in love, you’re in lust. I recognize that gleam in your eye. Ten to one you haven’t slept with her yet. So I recommend that you get her in the sack and be done with it before you end up doing something foolish.”

  Alex’s gaze fired briefly as he looked at his friend. How did Barney know the progress of his relationship with Carol?

  “I have every intention of sleeping with her. Only I plan to be doing that every night for the rest of my life. Carol’s not the type of woman to have a fling, and I refuse to insult her by suggesting one.”

  Barney stared at Alex as if seeing him for the first time. “I don’t think I ever realized what an old-fashioned guy you are. Apparently you haven’t noticed, but the world’s become a lot more casual. Our clothes are casual, our conversations are casual and yes, even our sex is casual. In case you hadn’t heard, you don’t have to marry a woman to take her to bed.”

  “Continue in this vein,” Alex said, “and you’re going to become a casual friend.”

  Barney rolled his eyes dramatically. “See what I mean?”

  If three wives hadn’t been able to change Barney’s attitude, Alex doubted he could, either. “As I recall, the last time we had this conversation,” Alex reminded him, “you said settling down was the thing to do. I’m only following your advice.”

  “But not yet,” Barney said. “You haven’t played the field enough. There are riches out there—” he gestured with his hands “—female gold nuggets just waiting to be picked up, then set gently back in place for the next treasure-hunter.”

  “You mean like Bambi and what was the name of the other one? Barbie?”

  “Stop being clever,” Barney snickered. “I have your best interests at heart, and frankly I’m concerned. Two years after Gloria’s gone, you suddenly announce it’s time to start dating again. Man, I was jumping up and down for joy. Then you go out with a grand total of ten different women—most of them only once—and calmly inform me you’ve met the one. You plan to marry her, just like that, and you haven’t even slept with her yet. How are you going to find out if you’re sexually compatible?”

  “We’re compatible, trust me.”

  “You may think so now, but bingo, once she’s got a wedding band, it’s a totally different story.”

  “Stop worrying, would you?” Alex eased his golf cart into his assigned space. From the day he’d decided to look for another wife, Barney had been a constant source of amusement. The problem was, his most hilarious moments had come in the form of women his friend had insisted he meet.

  “But, Alex, I am worried about you,” Barney muttered as he lifted his clubs from the back of the cart. “You don’t know women the way I do. They’re scheming, conniving, money-hungry, and how they get their clutches into you is by marriage. Don’t be so eager to march up the aisle with Carol. I don’t want you to go through what I have.”

  After three wives, three divorces and child support payments for two separate families, Barney was speaking from experience—of a particularly negative sort.

  “Gloria was special,” his longtime friend said. “You’re not going to find another one like her. So if it’s those qualities that attract you to Carol, look again. You may only be seeing what you want to see.”

  “You wanna yell?” Angelina Pasquale shouted from the doorway of the kitchen into the living room where her grandchildren were squabbling. “Then let’s have a contest. But remember—I’ve been doing it longer. They can hear me all the way in Jersey City.”

  Peter and his younger cousins ceased their shouting match, and with a nod of her head, Angelina returned to the kitchen, satisfied that a single threat from her was enough to bring about peace that would last through the afternoon.

  Carol was busy slicing tomatoes for the salad, and her sister-in-law, Paula, was spreading garlic butter on thick slices of French bread.

  The sauce was warming on the stove, and the water for the long strands of fresh pasta was just starting to boil. The pungent scent of basil and thyme circled the kitchen like smoke from a campfire. From Carol’s earliest memory, her mother had cooked a pot of spaghetti sauce every Saturday evening. The unused portion from Sunday’s dinner was served in a variety of ways during the week. Leftover pot roast became something delectable with her mother’s sauce over top. And chicken with Mama’s sauce rivaled even the Cajun chicken at Jake’s restaurant.

  “So, Carol,” her mother began, wiping her hands on the ever-present apron. She took a large wooden spoon and stirred the kettle of simmering sauce. “I suppose your English friend thinks good spaghetti sauce comes from a jar,” she said disparagingly. This was her way of letting Carol know the time had come to invite Alex and his son to Sunday dinner.

  “Mama, Alex plays golf on Sundays.”

  “Every Sunday?”

  Carol nodded.

  “That’s because he’s never tasted my sauce.” Angelina shook her head as though to suggest Alex had wasted much of his life walking from green to green when he could’ve been having dinner at her house.

  Adding serving utensils to the salad, Carol set the wooden bowl on the dining room table.

  Tony, Carol’s brother, sauntered into the kitchen and slipped his arms around Paula’s waist. “How much longer until dinner? The natives are getting restless.”

  “Eleven minutes,” Angelina answered promptly. She tasted the end of the wooden spoon and nodded in approval.

  Carol returned to the kitchen and noticed that her mother was watching her under the guise of waiting for the water to boil. The question Carol had expected all day finally came.

  “You gonna marry this non-Italian?” her mother asked, then added the noodles, stirring with enough energy to create a whirlpool in the large stainless-steel pot.

  “Mama,” Carol cried. “I barely know Alex. We’ve only gone out a handful of times.”

  “Ah, but your eyes are telling me something different.”

  “The only thing my eyes are interested in is some of that garlic bread Paula’s making,” Carol said, hoping to divert her mother’s attention from the subject of Alex.

  “Here.” Her sister-in-law handed her a slice. “But it’s no substitute for a man.” Paula turned her head to press a quick kiss on her husband’s cheek.

  Tony’s hands slipped further around Paula’s waist as he whispered in his wife’s ear. From the way her sister-in-law’s face flooded with warm color, Carol didn’t need much of an imagination to guess what Tony had said.

  Carol looked away. She wasn’t embarrassed by the earthy exchange between her brother and his wife; instead, she felt a peculiar twinge of envy. The realization shocked her. In all the years she’d been alone, Carol had never once longed for a pair of arms to hold her or for a man to whisper suggestive comments in her ear. Those intimacies were reserved for the happily married members of her family.

  Yet, here she was, standing in the middle of her mother’s kitchen, yearning for Alex to stroll up behind her, circle her waist and whisper promises in her ear. The image was so vivid that she hurried into the living room to escape it.

  It wasn’t until later, when the dishes were washed, that Carol had a chance to sort through her thoughts. Tony and Peter were puttering around in the garage. Paula was playing a game of Yahtzee with the younger children. And Angelina was rocking in her chair, nimble fing
ers working delicate yarn into a sweater for her smallest grandchild.

  “So are you gonna tell your mama what’s troubling you?” she asked Carol out of the blue.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Carol fibbed. She couldn’t discuss what she didn’t understand. For the first time, she felt distanced from the love and laughter that was so much a part of Sunday dinner with her family. For years she’d clung to the life she’d built for herself and her son. These few, short weeks with Alex had changed everything.

  Alex had discovered all her weaknesses and used them to his own advantage. Digging up the earth for her herb garden was a good example. She could’ve asked her brother to do it for her. Eventually she probably would have. But Tony did so much to help her already that she didn’t want to burden him with another request. It wasn’t as if tilling part of the backyard was essential. But one casual mention to Alex, and next thing she knew, there was freshly tilled earth waiting for basil and Italian parsley where before there’d been lawn.

  “You like this man, don’t you?”

  Carol responded with a tiny nod of her head.

  A slow, easy smile rose from her mother’s mouth to her eyes. “I thought so. You got the look.”

  “The look?”

  “Of a woman falling in love. Don’t fight it so hard, my bambina. It’s time you met a man who brings color to your cheeks and a smile to your lips.”

  But Carol wasn’t smiling. She felt confused and ambivalent. She was crazy about Alex; she prayed she’d never see him again. She couldn’t picture her life with him; she couldn’t picture her life without him.

  “I lit a candle in church for you,” her mother whispered. “And said a special prayer to St. Rita.”

  “Mama…”

  “God and I had a good talk, and He told me it’s predestined.”

  “What’s predestined?”

  “You and this non-Italian,” her mother replied calmly.

  “Mama, that doesn’t make the least bit of sense. For years you’ve been telling me to marry a rich old man with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. You said everyone loves a rich widow.”

  “Keep looking for the rich old man, but when you find him, introduce him to me. With any luck his first wife made spaghetti sauce with tomato soup and he’ll worship at my feet.”

  Carol couldn’t keep from smiling. She wasn’t so sure about her mother lighting candles on her behalf or deciding that marrying Alex was predestined, but from experience she’d learned there wasn’t any point in arguing.

  Tony, Paula and their two children left around five. Usually Carol headed for home around the same time, but this afternoon she lingered. The 1940s war movie on television held Peter’s attention, and her eyes drifted to it now and again.

  It wasn’t until she felt the moisture on her cheeks that she realized she was crying.

  Doing what she could to wipe away the tears so as not to attract attention to herself, she focused on the television screen. Her mother was right; she was falling in love, head over heels in love, and it was frightening her to death.

  Silently Angelina set her knitting aside and joined Carol on the sofa. Without a word, she thrust a tissue into Carol’s hand. Then she wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and pressed her head tenderly to her generous bosom. Gently patting Carol’s back, Angelina whispered soothing words of love and encouragement in a language Carol could only partially understand.

  Alex didn’t see Carol again until Monday afternoon when he pulled into the high school parking lot. He angled his van in front of the track, four spaces down from her car. He waited a couple of minutes, hoping she’d come and see him of her own free will. He should’ve known better. The woman wasn’t willing to give an inch.

  Deciding to act just as nonchalant, Alex opened his door, walked over to the six-foot-high chain-link fence and pretended to be watching the various groups participate in field events. Neither James nor Peter was trying out for any of those positions on the team.

  Then he walked casually toward Carol, who was determined, it seemed, to ignore him, hiding behind the pages of a women’s magazine.

  “Hello, Carol,” he said after a decent interval.

  “Oh—Alex.” She held the magazine rigidly in place.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.” The hesitation was long enough to imply that she would indeed mind. Regardless, he opened the passenger door and slid inside her car. Only then did Carol bother to close the magazine and set it down.

  By now, Alex told himself, he should be accustomed to her aloof attitude toward him. It was like this nearly every time they were together. She’d never shown any real pleasure at seeing him. He had to break through those chilly barriers each and every encounter. The strangest part was that he knew she was as strongly attracted to him as he was to her. And not just in the physical sense. Their lives were like matching bookends, he thought.

  “Did you have a good day?” he asked politely.

  She nodded and glanced away, as though she thought that sharing even a small part of her life with him was akin to admitting she enjoyed his company.

  “I suppose it would be too much to hope that you missed me the last couple of days?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Alex was almost embarrassed by the way his heart raced. “You missed me,” he repeated, feeling like a kid who’d been granted free rein in a candy store.

  “No,” Carol said, clearly disconcerted. “I meant it would be too much to hope I did.”

  “Oh.” The woman sure knew how to deflate his pride.

  “It really was thoughtful of you to dig up that area in my backyard on Saturday. I’m grateful, Alex.”

  Crossing his arms, Alex leaned against the back of the seat and tried to conceal his injured pride with a lazy shrug. “It was no trouble.” Especially since the two boys had done most of the work, leaving him free to “pester” Carol in the kitchen. With everything in him, he wished they were back in that kitchen now. He wanted her in his arms the way she’d been on Saturday afternoon, her lips moist and swollen with his kisses, her eyes dark with passion.

  “The boys will be out any minute,” Carol said, studying the empty field.

  Alex guessed this was his cue to leave her car, but he wasn’t taking the hint. When it came to Carol Sommars, he was learning that his two greatest allies were James and Peter.

  It was time to play his ace.

  Alex waited until the last possible minute. Both boys had walked onto the parking lot, their hair damp from a recent shower. They were chatting and joking and in a good mood. Climbing out of Carol’s car, Alex leaned against the fender in a relaxed pose.

  “Peter, did you say something about wanting to go camping?” he said, casting Carol a defiant look. “James and I were thinking of heading for the Washington coastline this coming weekend and thought you and your mother might like to go with us.”

  “We are?” James asked, delighted and surprised.

  Peter’s eyes widened with excitement. “Camping? You’re inviting Mom and me to go camping?”

  At the mention of the word camping, Carol opened her car door and vaulted out. Her eyes narrowed on Alex as if to declare a foul and charge him a penalty.

  “Are you two free this weekend?” Alex asked with a practiced look of innocence, formally extending the invitation. The ball was in her court, and he was interested in seeing how she volleyed this one.

  “Yes,” Peter shouted. “We’re interested.”

  “No,” Carol said at the same moment. “We already have plans.”

  “We do?” her son moaned. “Come on, Mom, Mr. Preston just offered to take us camping with him and James. What could possibly be more important than that?”

  “I wanted to paint the living room.”

  “What? Paint the living room? I don’t believe it.” Peter slapped his hands against his thighs and threw back his head. “You know how I feel about camping,” he whined.


  “Give your mother time to think it over,” Alex urged, confident that Carol would change her mind or that Peter would do it for her. “We can talk about it tomorrow evening.”

  James gave Peter the okay signal, and feeling extraordinarily proud of himself, Alex led the way to his van, handing his son the keys.

  “You’re going to let me drive?” James asked, sounding more than a little stunned. “Voluntarily?”

  “Count your blessings, boy, and drive.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Carol was furious with Alex. He’d played a faultless game, and she had to congratulate him on his fine closing move. All day she’d primed herself for the way she was going to act when she saw him again. She’d allowed their relationship to progress much further than she’d ever intended, and it was time to cool things down.

  With her mother lighting candles in church and having heart-to-heart talks with God, things had gotten completely out of hand. Angelina barely complained anymore that Alex wasn’t Catholic, and worse, not Italian. It was as if those two prerequisites no longer mattered.

  What Carol hadn’t figured on was the rush of adrenaline she’d experienced when Alex pulled into the school parking lot. She swore her heart raced faster than any of the runners on the track. She’d needed every ounce of determination she possessed not to toss aside the magazine she’d planted in the car and run to him, bury her face in his chest and ask him to explain what was happening to her.

  Apparently Alex had read her perfectly. He didn’t appear at all concerned about her lack of welcome. That hadn’t even fazed him. All the arguments she’d amassed had been for naught. Then at the last possible minute he’d introduced the subject of this camping trip, in what she had to admire was a brilliant move. Her chain of resistance was only as strong as the weakest link. And her weakest link was Peter.

  Grudgingly she had to admire Alex.

  “Mom,” Peter cried, restless as a first grader in the seat beside her. “We’re going to talk about it, aren’t we?”